


Ash to Ash

by flyingfishflops



Category: Dust: An Elysian Tail
Genre: Childhood Trauma, Nimbats, Origin Story, so many head cannons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-01
Updated: 2017-01-01
Packaged: 2018-09-14 00:46:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9149185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flyingfishflops/pseuds/flyingfishflops
Summary: Have you ever wondered why Fidget hates volcanoes and heights? perhaps it has something to do with her past...





	

**Author's Note:**

> I cant recall when i had this idea (Probs whilst skiing. thats where most of my story ideas come from) but I wrote it over summer on my phone with poor wifi + 4G.  
> I've tuned it up a lill' since then, so, I hope you enjoy :)

The young nimbat beat her wings, young face crinkled with effort. she rose about a foot before falling back to the ground, stirring up the dust. Beaming, the child looked up at its mother. “Oh well done!” her mother praised, holding the tiny thing by its paws and twirling with them in the air. The pair stopped spinning, and the child sat on it's mother's shoulders. They could see far from the top of the Everdawn volcano. That was part of the reason the civilisation of small winged creatures had settled there. There were other reasons such as fertile soil and the supposed wisdom of the mountain that the elders always went on about, but really it was mainly that nimbats where partial to a good view.

Urgent wing beats drew the mother's attention. Her husband fluttered over. “The volcano!” He urged. “It's going to erupt! We need to go!” The mother nodded, a grim look on her face. “We need to get the baby and pack first. It won't blow so soon without more warnings.” She said calmly, placing a hand on his shoulder. She took the childs hand, and the family flew into their home. As they set about packing, a deep rumble shook the house violently. “The volcano!” The father cried. “I'll get the baby! You take-” he was cut off by another, stronger rumble that tossed her to the floor. “Get her out of here!” He flew upstairs to get the baby.

The town hung to the cliff like a desperate mountain climber. Except for inside, there wasn't much need for horizontal surfaces in the town. There were ledges where the children who couldn't fly played, and elders too tired too sat. The larger ones served as fields, the ash of the volcano working as a rich fertiliser. The mother and her child stood in the doorway of their home. The child didn't understand what was happening but she knew it was bad. She looked up at her mother for reassurance. “Momma?” She asked “do I have to fly?” Her mother nodded, rubbing her daughter’s back. “If we get separated, glide for as long as possible. Try to stay in the air and to find another nimbat. Papa, your little brother and I shall find you.” She placed a kiss on the little girl's face.

An explosion ripped through the mountain, tossing the town away like toys. The child was thrown out the door, her mother slammed against the window with an audible crack. Red smeared across the glass. “GO! Please! Don't forget! We love you.” She pleaded, fur matted with tears and blood. From her grip on the window sill, the child looked into the eyes of her mother for the last time, and let go. Spreading her wings, she tried to glide. As she hit the wind, they blew out like leathery sails, slowing her descent. Tears and wind stung her face, and screams and booms battered her ears. The air flowed wrong, buffeting her as the winds tried to get a sense of direction. Ash caught in her fur, slowly painting her gray. Something smacked into her side, sending her rolling. She cried out in pain and fear as she began spiraling fast downwards, shedding fur and flakes of grey. She never remembered landing.

 

* * *

 One of the reasons some were against the idea of living on the Everdawn volcano was its tendency to explode with no prior warning.

* * *

 

The child woke up in a strange place, awash in a world of pain. A wrinkled face looked down, concerned. “Are you alright, little one?” It enquired. This wasn't momma. Or papa. It wasn't one of the elders. It wasn't even a nimbat. She drew into herself, silently, never speaking a word despite questioning. She merely fidgeted and fiddled, unable to sit still. Once it was clear that she wasn’t going to give any answers, the stranger decided to explain, realising her unsaid fear and confusion. She was in a small village, several miles from the everdawn ridge. Even far in the distance, they’d seen the eruption. Two of their hunters had found her tangled in a tree, unconscious and injured, and had brought her back to the village. That had been a few days before. She took the information in silently, twitching anxiously. After a swift debate, the village people decided to name her Fidget, after her nervous habit. Even after she started talking again, and her habit faded, she didn't correct them. Eventually, with time, Fidget’s old name faded from her memory, never to be used again.

* * *

 

Several years later the elders of the village came with a proposition. They had a sacred sword that they needed a nimbat to protect for some traditional reason. The current nimbat was getting old and wanted to retire to somewhere sunny or something. It wasn't a taxing job; she just had to sit and watch the sword. It was meant to be magical but it hadn't done anything for centuries. There was a small chance of it flying off but it's fine that wasn't going to happen, you'll get payed… Fidget tuned out. She probably missed vital information but if it were vital she’d be reminded. All she had to do was sit and watch a sword all day and she could stay. She'd get payed, too. Sounded good to her. And so it came to be that she sat under the same tree every day for a few years, “watching” the sword. Really, she just napped. Or read. Or did whatever. She often sat on the handle of the sword which was blade down on a pedestal. It was a pretty impressive sword. It had jewels and runes and weird notches. It looked like a magic sword from a prophecy is meant to. Sometimes the village allowed paying tourists to come and see the sword. On days like that Fidget would sit on the jewel at the top or hover above the sword and say things like “I am Fidget! Guardian of this sword!” and wish that they'd leave so she could have a nap. She was content with the arrangements. She slept in the tree with her few belongings, close enough to count as “watching”, she did whatever, got payed, occasionally got days off, and watched the sword do the same amazing things as it had done for the past few centuries. Which was absolutely nothing. Which made it kind of a big surprise when the sword started flying.

It'd been a normal kind of day. She'd been napping in a crook in the tree, (she wasn't technically allowed to nap on the job, but no one really cared. Even when the elders caught her once, they just shrugged as she stuttered her apologies. They all figured if something happened, she wasn't going to do much. She was just for show. Appearances matter.) when a flash of light startled her awake. She screeched and fell, managing to catch herself before she hit the ground. Heart racing she touched down on the ground and let out a sigh of relief. That could've hurt. She couldn’t remember why, but she had a pretty big fear of falling. Perhaps she’d fallen out of a tree when she was younger? She couldn’t remember. She was about to go back to sleep when she remembered the flash of light. She looked up sharply. The sword was gone. She looked around. There it was. Glinting in the sunlight as it… Flew away? “Wha?!” her mouth hung open in a gape, before reality hit. “Oh shoot!” She jumped up into the air. Why did the stupid prophecy sword have to fly off on her watch? She had to get it back before the elders noticed. Being caught napping was one thing… Losing the most important and sacred object the village had? that was another thing entirely.

She hurtled after it, wings beating furiously. After several miles she was out of breath and panting hard. The sword slowed as it entered a clearing. A huddled figure half lay, half sat in the clearing, a torn hat draping their face with shadows.. “Dust.” A deep voice rang out and the Blade of Ahrah entered the clearing. The runes pulsed with a strange light, in time with the syllables, and somehow, even from the distance she was away from it, Fidget knew it was the blade Talking “Dust. Arise.” The figure, Dust, she assumed, stirred. Fidget was nearly there now. She dove, wind blowing past her ears and blocking out the conversation. Fidget fluttered over, reaching out a paw in an attempt to look at least slightly authoritarian.“Stop… Stop right there….” She managed between breaths. “Wha- who are you?” The creature, Dust, breathed. Fidget swelled up, secretly pleased to be able to say the words in a truly fitting scenario. “I am Fidget!” she proclaimed, rather majestically, in her humble opinion. “Guardian of this sword!” 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! ^.^  
> I really hope you enjoyed!  
> I wish I could have worked in her fear of the dark slightly, but, eh, something might just be natural, and y'know, not trauma induced?
> 
> Is anyone gonna read this?  
> How many people are actualy into D:aET on this site anyway? Hello????


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